


Hard Truth

by jadey36



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadey36/pseuds/jadey36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks they know better than the next man, but someone knows better than all of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Rumor travels faster, but it don't stay put as long as truth" over on Dreamwidth/bbc robinhood.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. All rights reserved.

**Hard Truth**

“I’m telling you she is.” The man bangs his hand on the table for emphasis. “She goes off across the sea and suddenly the Night Watchman ain’t calling anymore.”

“Nah,” his companion says, tipping his empty mug at the Trip Inn’s barkeep, holding up a coin in his other hand. “Couldn’t be her. She’s just a woman. Anyway, even if you’re right—”

“I _am_ right.”

“Even if you’re right, it still don’t make no sense that she’d go off like that and leave us all a-begging.” 

“She went off to be with him,” a burly man says, leaning across from a nearby table.

“Who, the sheriff?”

“No, that Gisborne fellow.”

“How do you figure that out?” 

“Come on. Look at all the lovelies he gave her. I’ve seen that horse of hers. Smithed its shoe myself. I’d hook up with a cross-eyed, one-legged hag if I could get me mitts on a bit of horseflesh like that.” 

“You did hook up with a cross-eyed, one-legged—”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” 

“You’re wrong.” The barkeep thumps the mug of ale on the table, plucks the coin out the thirsty man’s hand. “She couldn’t stand the man. I reckon she was going to fleece both the sheriff and Gisborne and then set herself up in the Holy Land. I’ve heard the sun shines all year round over there. Always ruddy raining here.”

“Rubbish!” yet another voice chimes in. “It was that Robin of Locksley she fancied. I reckon they’re both cosying up in some Bedouin’s tent, with all their stolen goods. Don’t blame ‘em. They never got nothing but trouble here.”

 

He slams his tankard on the table, slopping ale. He doesn’t care; neither about interrupting the men’s conversation, nor about spilling his drink. He’s had his fill anyway, and he doesn’t want to risk drunkenness – not today. 

“Oi! What’s your game?” The thirsty man licks the back of his hand.

“She’s dead,” he says. 

“What?”

“She’s dead,” he says again, louder this time. 

The tavern goes quiet. Heads and eyes turn in his direction.

“How would you know? Who are you?” 

Fumbling under his cloak, the hooded man pulls out a grey and white goose feather-fletched arrow. He lays it on the table in front of the men.

Before they can question him further, before the tears start to spill from his tired, bloodshot eyes, he strides towards the door.

The barkeep picks up the arrow, calls, “Hey, you forgot your...” 

He doesn’t turn around. One less arrow won’t make any difference. Robin Hood only needs one arrow to kill Guy of Gisborne.


End file.
